Fellowship & Fairydust

Brave as a Noun – Andrew Jackson Jihad

I’m afraid to leave the house.
I’m as timid as a mouse.
I’m afraid if I go out I’ll outwear my welcome.
I’m not a courageous man.
I don’t have any big, lasting plans–
too cowardly to take a stand. I want to keep my nose clean.
And it’s sad to know that we are not alone,
and it’s sad to know there’s no honest way out.
In this life we lead we could conquer everything
if we could just get the brave to get out of bed in the morning.

 

February 23, 300

Tyrion had known that pregnancy would make his wife exhausted. He hadn’t counted on how tired he would feel. Sansa had barely left her bed in the past week, wracked with nausea and spells of dizziness, and between fetching for her, supervising Arya’s sparring practices with Bronn, and trying to keep Casterly Rock’s finances in check, he stumbled into bed most evenings well past when the candle dimmed.

11 am found him at the small table in his chambers, pouring over an accounting ledger while Sansa napped. Adelaide could take care of her, he knew, and perhaps he would get more work done in his office, but he hated to leave Sansa to her misery when he had, in essence, been the one to put her there.

The knock came on the bedroom door, haltingly, just as Tyrion was circling one of the castle workers who could perhaps be dispensed with – a butcher who often threatened to butcher children when their parents couldn’t pay his fares. Tyrion suspected his services could be put to better use on the wall, where he could butcher as many wight children as his sadistic little heart desired. Tyrion was so caught in the thought that it took him a moment to realize there had been the knock. He glanced up, his eyes focusing on Sansa’s sleeping form, and then he stood and padded across the room to the door. He opened it, and when he saw Clara standing on the other side, he stepped around the door, shutting it gently behind him.

Clara was bolder than her daughter and did not skirt around the issue. “Rickon needs discipline.”

Tyrion massaged the bridge of his nose. “I have been staring at an accounting ledger for hours, so perhaps I’m mixing things in my brain, but I seem to remember paying you a considerable sum to act as a nursemaid.”

Clara crossed her arms over her chest. “He needs more than a nursemaid.”

“He needs his mother and father,” Tyrion said. “Unfortunately, they’re both dead. It’s perhaps why his closest friend is a wolf.”

“You are lord to this manor and husband to his sister,” Clara returned. “That boy needs an education – as a lad, and as future Lord of Winterfell. He needs lessons in manners and comportment. He needs to learn to wield a sword and ride a horse. He needs to tame that wolf he loves so much.”

“I’ll hire him a tutor,” Tyrion said.

“That won’t be enough,” Clara said.

“What would you suggest?” Tyrion scowled at her.

“I would suggest that you let Adelaide do her job by Lady Sansa,” Clara said. “She doesn’t need you mothering her right now. She needs you to help with her brother!”

“You want me to teach him to use a sword?” Tyrion hissed. “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but I’m not exactly master-at-arms!”

“I suppose that tapestry Lady Sansa made of Blackwater is just a pretty decoration?” Clara asked.

“I nearly died at Blackwater!”

“What will you do when it’s your son in the nursery?” Clara pressed.

Tyrion deflated. He dragged a hand across his face. “I don’t know.”

“Well, you best figure it out,” Clara said quietly. “Lady Sansa’s pregnancy is more certain every day, and in the meantime, you have a little boy in this castle who is in desperate need of a father figure.”

Tyrion watched Clara walk away. For the first time in a long time, he felt as small as he looked.

***

Arya stumbled past Jaime, getting a swat on the back of her legs with his sword for her effort. She spun to face him, sweat and mud dripping down her brow. For a man with one arm, he was stunningly hard to fight against, and he seemed to enjoy whacking at her with the flat of his sword when she failed.

“My dwarf brother is faster than you.” Jaime smiled cheerfully at her.

“He’s smarter than you,” Arya said, “but I don’t see the need to harass you about it.”

“You fight like a girl,” Jaime said.

Arya lunged, swinging Needle wildly. Jaime batted her away, barely moving from his spot.

“Children let these kinds of barbs get to them,” Jaime said.

Arya lunged again; and again, he batted her away. She sighed, stumbling backwards and sheathing her sword. “I’m done.”

Jaime smiled genially. He sheathed his sword, as well. “Same time tomorrow?”

Arya could feel tears stinging the backs of her eyes, but she fought past them. “Yes. Same time tomorrow.” She stomped past Jaime and pushed through the gate.

Brienne of Tarth stood just outside the practice yard, an amused look in her eyes. “You’re never going to beat Jaime fighting like that; and if you can’t beat Jaime, you’ll never beat Bronn.”

“Thanks for the pep talk,” Arya groused. “You and your boyfriend are the most uplifting people I’ve ever met.”

Brienne ignored the barb at Jaime. She said, “You’re small. The only benefit a small person has in a fight is the ability to tire the larger person out. How is it that Jaime keeps tiring you out?”

Arya shrugged, too tired to pretend at an answer.

“Girls have to work twice as hard as boys to be considered half as good,” Brienne said.

“I practice with two different sword masters,” Arya pointed out.

“Any boy in your circumstances would do the same,” Brienne replied. “You need to do more, or you will never be anything but a little girl in a pair of breeches.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Arya muttered. “You’re as big as any man.”

“I am,” Brienne agreed. “And I still work twice as hard as they do. You’d need to work four times as hard to be as good as me.”

Arya’s foot scuffed the ground. “I don’t know how to work any harder!”

“You need to build strength in your arms,” Brienne said. “And in your legs. You need to be faster. And you need to stop letting them rile you up with their words.”

Arya chewed on the insides of her cheeks.

“Lay on the ground,” Brienne said.

Arya stared at her.

“On your stomach.” Brienne waved her hand.

Frowning, Arya dropped to the ground on her stomach.

“Put your hands flat on the ground,” Brienne instructed “and push your body straight up.”

Arya tucked her hands beneath her shoulders and pushed up, keeping her back straight. It was harder than she had anticipated.

“Lower halfway down, and then push yourself back up,” Brienne said.

Arya did so, clenching her jaw. Her arms ached from the two fights she had done earlier that day, and her forearms shook as she pushed herself up.

“I could do that fifty times with you standing on my back,” Brienne said. “You’re struggling to do it twice. No wonder they’re beating you.”

Arya glared at the mud beneath her hands.

“Work out with me twice a day,” Brienne said. “Morning and night. I guarantee you’ll beat the cripple within a month.”

“I need to beat Bronn,” Arya reminded her.

“You can’t very well beat Bronn if you can’t beat Jaime,” Brienne said.

Arya pushed herself to her feet. She was already working out twice a day with the boys. She was already tired… and she knew Brienne was right. She inclined her head, saying nothing.

“5 am,” Brienne said. “I’ll be at your rooms. Be ready.”

***

February 24, 300

The bedroom door opened at first light, and Adelaide came into the room carrying tea and breakfast. Sansa sat up, the blankets falling away from her, and stared at her handmaiden. For the first time in days, Tyrion wasn’t there to eat breakfast with her. He’d barely left their room since Sansa’s morning sickness started getting bad.

“Is everything okay?” Sansa asked Adelaide.

Adelaide inclined her head. “Yes, milady.”

“And Lord Tyrion’s all right?” Sansa pressed.

“Yes, milady,” Adelaide said. “He said to tell you that he had pressing work this morning, but he’ll join you this afternoon for lunch.”

Sansa smiled weakly. “Just as well. Maybe I’ll have an appetite for lunch.”

Adelaide lifted a small mug and carried it across the room. “Lord Tyrion has also hired a new Maester, who suggests raspberry leaf tea for your belly.”

“He hired a new Maester?”

“Maester Toth,” Adelaide confirmed. “He’s one of the best in the country. Lord Tyrion sent him a raven just after his name day, but he wasn’t sure the man would actually come. He arrived this morning.”

Sansa gave a wane smile. “I have been sick lately if my handmaiden knows more about my lord’s activities than I do.”

Adelaide smiled uncertainly. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.” Sansa took the cup of tea from Adelaide and gave it a careful sip. “I’m glad he hasn’t completely paused his life. I was afraid he had.”

***

Tyrion hesitated outside the boy’s bedroom door. He wasn’t sure why. He was lord of the house, and he had every right to go into his young guest’s rooms. The truth was, Tyrion had seen very little of Rickon since the boy arrived nearly a fortnight prior. Even if Rickon had been a completely normal boy and hadn’t needed any extra assistance, Clara would have been right in taking Tyrion to task for not attending the boy more.

There was nothing to be done for the past. Tyrion raised his hand, rapped sharply on the door twice, and pushed it open.

Rickon sat in the middle of his floor. He wore clothing that was freshly laundered, and hair had been combed, but it nothing to keep the wild from his eyes. Papers were spread out on the floor around him, covered in charcoal scribbling. Clara sat in a rocking chair in the corner of the room, supervising him.

“Hello, Rickon.” Tyrion sat on the floor across from the boy. “How are you doing today?”

Rickon didn’t look up from his scribbling.

Tyrion said, “It is customary in a civil engagement to make eye contact with people when they’re talking to you… even more customary to talk back, but I suppose we can work on one thing at a time.”

Rickon gave no sign that he heard Tyrion. He continued to drag the charcoal aimlessly across the paper.

Tyrion sighed. He leaned back, putting his body weight on his hands, and let himself observe Rickon for a moment. When he’d arrived at Casterly Rock, he’d been nearly wild. If the reports he’d gotten from Clara were any indication, things hadn’t improved much. All he seemed to want was to be with his wolf, and when he was indoors, he lacked any motivation to learn or engage.

Tyrion licked his lower lip. He said, “Rickon. How would you like for Shaggydog to be able to come into the castle?”

Rickon looked up sharply at Tyrion’s words.

“He can’t until he’s trained,” Tyrion said. “I haven’t the time to train him. He wouldn’t trust me even if I did. He would trust you.”

Rickon stared at Tyrion.

“You’d have to be responsible to train him, though,” Tyrion said. “I can’t expect you to make Shaggydog obedient if you don’t try at your own lessons.”

The charcoal dropped away from Rickon’s hand. He cocked his head to the side, staring at Tyrion.

Tyrion smiled. “How about this. We’re going to have a new schedule. In the morning you’ll work with Clara on getting yourself dressed and ready for the day, and I’ll come work with you on your lessons as a young lord. If you’re good for both Clara and me in the morning and work hard, I’ll take you down to train with Shaggydog for half an hour before lunch.”

A hint of a smile touched Rickon’s lips.

“If you choose not to work hard in the mornings,” Tyrion said, “you’ll spend that half-hour here in your room thinking about how you’ll be good in the afternoon.”

Rickon’s nose wrinkled slightly.

“Regardless,” Tyrion pressed on, “in the afternoon, you’ll work on manners with Clara for an hour, and then Bronn will take you and work on other life skills with you. If you’re good in the afternoons, you’ll get a half-hour with Shaggydog before dinner.”

Rickon nodded slowly.

“Dinner will be with me – and Lady Sansa when she’s well – either in the great hall or in our chambers depending on the day,” Tyrion said. “Afterwards you will take a bath and change into nightclothes without any fuss. If you do, you can choose between an hour of free time or reading stories with your sister and I. Otherwise; you’ll go straight to bed.”

Rickon chewed his lower lip. He tugged at the strands on his shirt, mute as the day he arrived.

Tyrion stood up and held a hand out to Rickon. “On good faith, let’s go see Shaggydog now, before lunch. We’ll start your new routine this afternoon.”

Rickon stared at Tyrion’s hand for a long moment before pushing himself to his feet and shyly slipping his hand into Tyrion’s.

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